


midnight heart.

by emmawritesometimes (hairringtonsteve)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Everybody Dies, F/M, I don't know what to tag this as, What Have I Done, sith lord in training cassian andor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairringtonsteve/pseuds/emmawritesometimes
Summary: Jyn Erso would be the death of him.(Jyn Erso has brought out the life in him.)Or, the one where Cassian Andor is a Sith-in-Training and Jyn's been with the Rebellion for awhile.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, SO I wrote this in a day because I had the idea earlier and I couldn't let it go. This is pretty much only spell-checked (and even then, hey, who knows). 
> 
> I might come back and edit it later on. 
> 
> Or not. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Jyn Erso would be the death of him.**

 

_Kriff, that hurts_.

The thought comes to him unbidden, the world in total darkness. Everything aches and there’s this thing rubbing against his side and it burns. He reaches out for the Force, and that’s when the panic sets in. He can feel it, swirling around him like the chaos that he thrives in, **but he can’t hold onto it**. Can’t grasp it and use it for what he needs. His pulse starts to pick up, and that’s when he starts to hear the beeping. A heart-rate monitor.

“You’re alright,” a soft voice says, the rubbing continuing. The voice is quiet. Female. Coruscanti in accent, maybe? He struggles to place it. He cracks an eye open, and there she is. A faint thought crosses his mind, that some would consider her pretty. The thought leaves as he starts to run through optimal scenarios for escape. He doesn’t even know what had happened to him.

 So he starts with the basics.

“Where am I?” He manages to croak out. His throat hurts. Everything hurts.

“Classified,” she replies, offering him a tight smile. “How are you feeling?” 

His gaze travels down her face to her neck, eyes skimming down her arms as he finally figures out what that incessant rubbing is. 

“Bacta gel?” She gives him a nod. He tries to lift his head to see what’s wrong, but it sends a spike of pain ripping down his side. Great. Just great. “What happened?” 

“Apparently you were a bit too close when an ion charge exploded.” His eyes slip shut. This was just absolutely perfect. He needed to _leave_ , to head back to Lord Vader and tell him that the rebels -

The rebels. He opens his eyes once more and stares at her. 

“Are you with the Alliance?” He doesn’t manage to quite cover up the sneer in his words. She blinks a little too hard. 

“Do you really have to ask?” It took him a second too long to understand what she was talking about. His wrists and ankles were restrained. He must have hit his head hard if it was taking him this long to notice. He watches her as she rubs the bacta gel into his side. It’s methodical and precise. She’s done this before. 

She can’t much older than twenty, and the Alliance usually isn’t big on letting the new ones handle Imperial Prisoners. His thoughts pause. Unless they don’t know who he is. _Of course_ they don’t know who he is. Would they be so stupid to send some girl in there to patch him up if the knew who he is?  

To be fair, they might be.

But he’s been in spots like this before. All it takes is a couple of smiles and pretending like he cares and next thing he knows, he’s out of there.

“What’s your name?” Her hands still for a moment, her gaze sliding to meet his before dropping back to his side.

“Classified.”

“I’m Jeron,” he offers. She hums, the only response that she even heard him. The bacta gel finally starts to work. It doesn’t get rid of the pain entirely, but it’s more of a numb ache than a sharp one.

He’ll take what he can get.

“You’re from Fest, yeah?” He blinks at her.

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

“The accent.”  
  
“Oh. You from Coruscant?”

“Nope.” She finishes spreading the gel, and reaches for a patch. Her hands are soft as they skim over his skin, pressing down the edges. Her fingers brush against his hipbone and his breath catches. There’s a pause in her movements before they resume. She pats the patch, once, twice, and then her touch is gone. 

“Are you going to tell me anything?” He asks, his gaze honing in on her face. “It’s kind of rude to not give me any answers.” He gives her what he hopes is a small smile. By the look on her face, it’s not. 

“Yeah, well, it’s rude to be an Imperial, so… yeah.” She stands up, packing up the rest of the medpac as he takes in the rest of the room. The walls are dark, and made of stone. The cot that he’s on juts out from the wall. There’s a nightstand beside it, where she had set her things. A door on the far side of the room, locks from the outside. Nothing he sees could help him escape his restraints, let alone the room. 

“Are you leaving?” She zips up the medpac, her gaze roaming over the rest of the items on the nightstand. He watches as she internally debates, and then as she eventually picks up the rest of the odds and ends on the nightstand. She must be new at the treatment of prisoners if she actually had to think about leaving anything there. 

“You’ll remain in here for the duration of your stay. Meals are twice a day. I’ll be back to check on your injuries.” He watches as she strides out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her. 

And now he waits. 

 

*** 

Some being comes in to bring him food. Another checks his vitals. None are the girl.

***

 

“Cassian Jeron Andor. Twenty-six. Hails from Fest. Sith-Lord in training. And you thought it would be a good idea to bring him _here_?”

Jyn Erso has done a lot of stupid things. One time she and Kes Dameron had thought it’d be a brilliant idea to go get some intel on Nar Shaddaa. They’d ended up heading back to base penniless, intel-less, and in nothing but their undergarments (Shara Bey refuses to let that one go). 

But this one took the cake. 

“Yes?” Jyn says after hesitating a couple of seconds. She glances over to Wedge, who is looking as though he’s trying not to laugh. The traitor. 

“Why the hell would you think that was a good idea?” General Draven booms. Another being would have cowered. Jyn barely succeeds in not flinching. 

“Do you know how much intel he has? Kes found his body, we didn’t even realize that he was a kriffing sith until we had him on the ship. Guy was out cold and I didn’t want to leave him behind.” Kes coughs behind her, reminding her of their conversation when they were dragging his body onto the ship. 

She’d said something about how it’d be a shame a being this attractive would have to die too soon. 

“What happens if he tries to retaliate?” 

“He can’t. We rounded up a couple of ysalamir and I have them in cages. He can’t use the Force, and Wedge gets some new pets. I can take him if I need to.” Draven blinks at her words, a scowl settling onto his features. 

“You think you can defeat a Sith in hand-to-hand combat? Really? You?” Jyn bristles at his words. She sets her jaw. Without looking, she knows that Kes and Wedge are exchanging looks. 

“Absolutely.”

 

*** 

When she leaves the meeting, Jyn sees Leia Organa struggling to hide her smile as Draven scowls.

***

 

There’s a pounding on the door - two sharp, hard knocks. The man rolls his eyes and stands up. He faces the wall, hands above his head as they rest against the stone. Dinner must be early that night. He can hear the _swish_ of the door opening, and instinctively reaches out to the Force. It’s been two weeks - three weeks? - and nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“You got a new bed.” He stiffens at the voice. Her. **Classified**. 

“You’d know that if you’d ever come back,” he answers. His voice is almost petulant. 

“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t sound sorry at all. If anything, almost amused. 

“So can I turn around now, or are you going to keep staring at my ass?” If he’d been back on Mustafar, Lord Vader would have snapped his neck for the words. But it had been ages since he’d heard the orders from his Master. For every second that ticks by, it’s harder and harder for him to censor his thoughts. 

“You can turn around.” The man turns to face her, watching as her gaze pointedly moves from his lower region to his face. There’s a long cut on the side of her face, stretching from her left brow all the way to her neck. He cocks a brow at her. “An Imp got me with a knife. You guys sure know how to fight.” 

He looks over to the door - which is _open_. How in the galaxy do they just leave it open? 

(Later on, he’ll think back on this and realize how kriffing stupid he is.) 

“Most of us are terrible. You must be bad at it.” He watches as her shoulders shrug. She crosses her arms. 

“I’m alright,” she says, a defensive tone to her words. This is almost **too** easy. 

“Maybe when they eventually give me some free time, I could teach you.” All she does is blink at him. “You could use a teacher.” His eyes drag over her form slowly, starting from her toes and sliding up until he meets her eyes. There’s a low thrill humming in his veins. If he were another man, he’d probably try to bed her. He takes it all in, watches as she tenses, forcing herself to breathe deeply. All he does is watch. It’s only for a moment, but her eyes drop to his mouth and hesitate, and that’s when he moves. 

The man darts forward, shoulders low as he moves to knock her out of place. What happens next comes to him in a series of snapshots. 

A **_crack_** against his chest. 

Followed by another hard one against his back. 

Another against his face (he can feel the blood oozing down his cheek). 

And a final, quick succession of two blows to the backs of his knees. 

And he’s down. He lands on his back, the air being knocked out of his lungs. He’s gasping there, his eyes wide as he watches the girl approach him. The air about her changes as she stalks forward. She’s not a girl anymore, but a rebel, through and through. She pulls out a blaster and aims it at him. 

“One move, Andor, and you’re gone.”   

He’s still gasping, struggling to get the words out. They barely come forth, although it sounds more like ‘ _wha - huh - you - wha -’_ than actual sentences. He looks up at her in what can only be described as awe. 

“Not bad, Erso. Not bad at all.” A male’s voice chimes in, and he looks over to the doorway, his face screaming in pain at the movement. General Draven. He looks back to the girl - _Erso_ \- and watches her expectantly. 

“Told you I could take him,” she crowes. He’s still panting and almost moves to sit up. His gaze moves from her face to the barrel of the blaster and thinks twice. “Not so big and bad without the Force to aid him.” 

“ ‘s not my name,” is what he **finally** manages to wheeze out. Erso cocks a brow at him, as though she’s waiting. “Andor’s not my name.”

“Cassian. Jeron. Andor. That’s your name. There’s no point in trying to deny it.” 

“Cassian Andor is dead.” Erso rolls her eyes, instead looking over to Draven. 

“Are all Sith wannabes this dramatic?” Is she making fun of him? His fingernails dig into his palm, pressing hard enough until they bleed. If he glances down to look, there will be bloody half-moon cuts littering his skin. 

“Darth Mirtis,” he says, his voice low. There’s anger, deep and raw and he can feel it building his chest. _Finally_ , someone to draw it out of him. He reaches out to the Force, needing to call upon it to - Nothing. He can feel it swirling around him and he can’t do anything. The anger grows, however, when she starts to laugh. 

“Kriff, do you hear yourself? I didn’t waste two weeks on some shitty backwater planet for you to tell me that my intel is wrong and Cassian Andor is dead.” It’s almost admirable, how she has absolutely zero fear. Mostly it just grates against every single nerve in his body. 

“Fuck you,” he finally spits out, looking beyond the blaster into her eyes. Every other being he’s stared at like this has dropped their gaze, started to cower. Erso, however, is - 

Erso? 

_Erso_?

“Are you Galen Erso’s - “ 

He never gets to finish his sentence. Instead, he sees a brief, bright light for half a second before the blaster bolt lands solidly in his chest. He collapses instantly.

 

***

“ _It was set to stun, kriff_.”

***

 

The soldiers on base have taken to calling Andor her pet. Jyn much prefers the ysalamir as pets. They’re quite sweet once you’ve spent some time with them.

It’s been a month and a half since she shot Cassian Andor in the chest. There had been whispers throughout the base of the name he prefers, but she’s never confirmed or denied it. She occasionally thinks that for some great big Sith-Lord in training, he would have come up with a better name than something that literally means death. 

(Yes. She did look that up the night that she’d shot him.) 

She hasn’t slept an entire night straight through ever since he’d said those four words. 

_Are you Galen Erso’s -_   

Daughter. The word makes her heart ache, dragging to the surface what she’s spent years trying to shove down. It’s the worst at night, the nightmares warping her dreams until she woke up in a panic, her hand clenching at her heart. 

Some nights it was just straight memories - her mother giving her the kyber crystal. Being shot dead. Saw coming. Saw abandoning her. The sins that she’s committed. 

Other nights, however, can be worse. 

They start out the same - her mother racing her out of their home, her little feet slipping and struggling to keep up with the pace. But at some point she looks up and it’s not her mother but Andor urging her along. Andor kneeling in front of her, tying the crystal around her neck and whispering to _trust the Force_. Andor mimicking her mother’s last goodbye, a soft brush of his fingertips against her cheek and then he’s gone. She always tries running after him, and she never reaches him. 

She wakes up afterwards and vomits.  
Every time.

 

*** 

To be fair, he hasn’t slept well either.

***

 

Darth Mirtis has been glaring at his doorway for a month and a half. It’s been a total of two months - give or take a few weeks - since he’s felt his Master’s presence. Two months of no orders, no path, no **Force**. He’s tried and tried and tried to keep a hold of that raw anger, the unimaginable passion for blood in the time since then.

He’s failed miserably. 

It’s been two weeks since he gave up trying to call out to the Force.

It’s been a week since he started replaying Erso beating the shit out of him. 

It’s been two days since he started imagining Erso doing other things to him.

It’s been a long two months.

 

***

Somewhere during the two months, she starts to bring a pack of pazaak cards into his room and proceeds to win every single time they play.

***

 

Jyn presses her palm against the sensor, watching as it goes from red to green. The door swishes open to reveal a wide eyed Andor staring at her from his seat on his bed.

“Extra visit today? I’d almost think that you’re starting to like me.” The door slides shut behind her as she steps inside. 

“I’ve got a present for you,” she replies, following his gaze as it pointedly ignores the bundle in her hands and instead blatantly checks her out. She scowls. “Look, you want to be like that and get yourself off, go ahead. I’ll leave you alone and you won’t get to leave this room for another six months.” 

Andor sits back against the wall, crossing his legs in front of him. He motions to the bundle. 

“What’s in that?” 

“Insurance.” She walks forward, setting the thing gently on the bed. She motions for him to look at it. 

As he lifts the covering up, a soft cry comes forth. He freezes, his gaze moving from Jyn to the bundle. 

“What did you do?” He carefully picks up the harness - no cage - no, definitely harness. With a cage. There’s an animal inside - about a foot or so long. “What is this?” 

“Meet Gylif. She’s going to be your new partner.” Jyn is trying her hardest not to laugh out loud at the look on his face.

“My what?” 

“I need to go off base on a mission, and if I leave you here alone, you die. So I struck up a deal with some higher-ups. Between Gylif here making it impossible for you to use the Force, and Kay, you’re stuck.” She pauses. “Or, you could stay here and just get yourself off until some soldier with a thirst for revenge gets to you.” 

“I’m with you.” The words come out so fast that Jyn thinks she might have heard wrong. But he’s staring at her with wide eyes and there’s this warm feeling in her chest out of nowhere and all she does is give him a short nod. 

“All the way?” Her hand falls to the blaster at her hip, and his eyes follow. The silence stretches between them. She feels like she’s on the edge of something. 

The last time she felt like this was when she was heading down to that bunker to wait for Saw.

“All the way.”

 

*** 

She never tells him that Gylif means ‘life’ in Corellian.

***

 

It’s another month before they even leave.

Jyn - he knows her name now - is closing the locking mechanism on his harness. Gylif coos softly from his back, and he almost smiles. His nails dig into his palm. He’s becoming soft. 

“Did they teach you to do that?” The words come soft, so soft that Mirtis almost thinks that he hadn’t heard them correctly. But Jyn isn’t looking at him and her hands still against the harness.

“Teach me to do what?” 

“Harm yourself like that. When you mess up. Did they teach you that?” She glances up to him, and for a brief moment, he almost considers telling her the truth. The doubts have been coming hard and fast to him.

It scares him. 

“Maybe I just like the pain. Maybe it makes me feel good.” He gives her a bawdy look, one that feels fake to him. Her face instantly goes cold and hard. A stone-faced warrior that wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

“Whatever,” she spats, her hands rougher than neccessary as she tightens the harness, finally locking it. “Follow me.” He watches as she strides to their ship, dropping her bag onto the floor before Draven calls for her. She waits until he catches up to her, all business. 

“Don’t even bother saying it. I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”  His gaze turns to the ship as she walks away, taking everything in before his eyes land on a droid. 

An Imperial droid.

“Cassian Andor. Twenty-six. Born on Fest. Jyn Erso says that an alternative name for you is ‘Bantha Dick’. Is that correct?” He almost chokes as he stares at the droid. Where in the galaxy had it come from? 

“Excuse me?”

“Jyn doesn’t think this is a good idea. I don’t think so either. But what do I know? I’ve only been the one monitoring your health and mental patterns for the last three months.”

“You learn anything?” He asks, almost defeated.

“You scream when you have nightmares. Which is every night. I’ve caught you crying - presumably from guilt - approximately fifteen times.” He blanches.

“Can you tell what they’re saying?” He asks, nodding his head towards Jyn and Draven. Anything to get this droid to not start the analysis of his mental state.

“Yes.” He waits for a moment to see if the kriffing droid has anything else to say. Instead, it just retreats into the cockpit.

Mirtis rolls his eyes and steps up into the ship. He glances down to the bag that Jyn left behind. He looks back to her and Draven, still deep in conversation. He crouches, rummaging through it idly. Nothing but gear, some books, a couple of maps - none of the planet they were going to - and that’s about it. No holo-image of a war-torn husband or tattered childhood security blanket.

He almost hopes to find his lightsaber, but he knows better than that. Knows better than to hope for the impossible now. He does, however, find a blaster. A BlasTech A-180. Not the best, but it would do. He straps it onto his hip. Gylif lets out a soft keen. He pretends that it’s encouragement.

By the time Jyn is approaching the ship, Mirtis is making his way towards the bench along the wall. He practically collapses, ignoring the way that his heart is practically singing. He gets to _leave_ . He could _escape_.

“Why does Cassian get a blaster and I don’t?” Jyn is in the ship now, the exterior door shutting and sealing behind her. She turns slowly towards him, a frown on her face. She takes a couple of seconds, as though deciding on how to proceed.

“Because I can kill him faster than he can kill me.”

 

***

In a weird turn of events, Kay actually kind of enjoys bickering with Cassian Andor.

***

 

Jedha is a shit show.

She’d given Andor specific instructions on how to act - mainly to keep his mouth shut and act like a rebel, not some kriffing Sith-Lord. It’s still a miracle that no one put two and two together with the ysalamir.

They’re expensive. Not just anyone would keep one as a traveling companion.

For awhile, everything had seemed to be alright. Andor had listened to her, Kay was actually following her instructions, and everything was fine. She had managed to delude herself into thinking that everything would work out. She could even pretend that Andor wasn’t anyone but just another rebel. Three months without his dark lord hovering over him had changed him a little, she’d thought. There was an occasional ghost of a smile on his face. He’d huff out a short laugh. When he thought no one was looking, he’d pet Gylif through the cage.

And she’d seen the holo-vids of him at night - screaming and crying and slamming his fists off the wall. An on-base therapist said that the hours and hours on end of just him - no Vader, no Palpatine, no one other than just him - would bring out a litany of emotions.

Secretly, Jyn hopes that he’s changing for the better.

Somewhere along the way, though, everything had gone from bad to worse. But somehow they make it into the ship as Jedha City crumbles around her, their makeshift crew being tossed about as she and Kay barely manage to navigate the death and destruction that is all around them. She only breathes a sigh of relief when they make it to hyperspace. She lets her head lean against the wall of the ship as she listens to Draven, her heart sinking in her chest.

“Yes, sir. Understood.” Her eyes slip shut for a moment.

Extract her father. Those were her new orders. Extract her father - the traitor - and bring him back to base because she’d utterly failed and hadn’t managed to get the hologram. She cracks her eyes open and looks over to Andor. He meets her gaze with an intensity she hasn’t seen in him before.

Everything she’s been running from is catching up with her.

 

***

He doesn’t say anything, but he spots the kyber crystal around her neck.

***

 

Cassian Andor would have been a good man. Cassian Andor would have done the right thing. Cassian Andor would have wanted to aid Jyn Erso in rescuing her father. Cassian Andor had been dead and gone for the past fourteen years.

Mirtis - **Darth** Mirtis, he corrects himself - is not a good man. He has been gone for too long, and needs to make up for lost time. He keeps his eyes shut, pretending to be sleeping as they head towards Eadu.

The blind one - Chirrut - keeps looking in his direction. Well, if you could call it looking.

If he can kill Galen Erso - the traitor - then he would be hailed as a hero. Lord Vader would welcome him back and together they could train enough to defeat Lord Palpatine. They could rule the galaxy and Jyn would be by his side and -

The thought comes to him unbidden. He instantly opens his eyes and finds her. She’s talking to the traitor pilot - something Rook - softly. She’s offering him a small smile and patting his shoulder gently and saying something to him, something that makes Rook muster up a smile.

He’s seen a lot of sides of Jyn Erso, but her comforting a being had yet to be one of them.

Jyn would be devastated if he kills her father. It had taken him awhile, but now, he can read her fairly well. He’d seen the various emotions flickering across her face when they were on their way to Jedha. He’d been the one to find her on the floor, broken and helpless as Saw watched her. He’d been the one to drag her up and out of there before she died.

Can he kill Galen Erso?

The voice he’d listened to for so long came up with a roar, a loud resounding **yes** that made his hands clench into a fists. He could do this. He could defeat them and make it back to Mustafar and join Lord Vader once more.

_Can you really kill Galen Erso?_

This voice is different. It’s quieter, warmer. Maybe a little higher pitched. His chest clenches and he’s suddenly dragged down in a series of memories. Six years old and throwing rocks at Republic Walkers. His father dying. A holo-image of his mother. Warmth and sunlight and _freedom_ and -

Mirtis grits his teeth and digs his nails into his skin.

Chirrut regards him curiously.

 

***

He steals a sniper rifle and has the shot lined up and Galen Erso looks to much like his daughter.

***

 

If Jedha was a shit show, then Eadu is hell.

Looking back on this, Jyn won’t be able to recall everything at once. It’ll come to her in flashes, single images that pile on one after the other. But she won’t forget her father’s face as she cradled his head in her hands.

“Papa?” Her voice is cracking and she suddenly feels so small. Eight years old and watching her mother be shot in front of her. Her papa looking over the fields. She knows without a doubt now that he was looking for her, to make sure that she was gone and safe.

“Please, Papa. Please.” Jyn Erso hasn’t cried like this in over ten years. Her head is bowed as she sobs, mourning the last bit of blood that she’d had left in the galaxy. Everything is numb. Everything hurts.

There’s a gentle hand on her shoulder, tugging insistently at her. The words sound like they’re coming from far away.

“Jyn, please. We need to go.”

“I can’t leave him.” Her voice is strong even though tears are tracing lines through the dirt on her cheeks.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and comforting. He uncurls her fingers from her father’s body, and she’s cold all over. “He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do. We need to leave.”

Later on, she’ll remember that he used _we_ instead of _you_.

“Help me,” she says. Her father’s body drops to the ground. The rain is pelting against her and she feels too cold. Andor hoists her to her feet and she stares down at the body. She’d had what, less than a minute with him?

She’d hated him for most of her life, and when she finally **wants** to see him, she gets less than a minute. The galaxy is cruel.

“Come on. I’ve got you.”

She takes his hand and runs.

 

***

They steal a ship from the Rebels. It’s cramped and tight and tensions are running high because there’s a kriffing Sith-Lord wannabe shoved in there with them. But when Jyn Erso places her hand on Cassian Andor’s arm - the excitement radiating off of her at having made it through the deflector shield - everything is okay.

***

 

Cassian can’t pinpoint where everything changed. Maybe it was as they landed and he easily took out the officers that came aboard the ship. Maybe it was before that.

Or maybe it was when Jyn Erso willingly took off the ysalamir cage so he could put on the Imperial officer outfit.

Everything comes flooding back. He reaches out to the Force, and it sings. It takes him a couple of seconds to realize, but there’s something missing. He searches, unable to figure it out. It’s been so long than any connection to it is almost overwhelming him.

“You could have escaped on Jedha.”

Chirrut’s voice is soft over the din of the others, everyone hurrying to get into place. Cassian turns to Chirrut, his eyes wide.

“I - Yes. I could have.” After they’d broken out of the cell, he could have been free. There were other ships taking off. He could have left Jyn to die.

But he didn’t.

“The Light - it’s been calling to you for a long time.” Cassian almost chokes up. There’s this squeezing in his chest as he looks at the wise man standing before him. “I have faith in the Force and the Force has faith in you.” There’s a brief moment where Cassian turns to look at Jyn. She’s giving a grin to Rook, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Jyn has faith in you.”

 

***

Cassian Andor can feel every life go out. It takes all he has to not let out a cry as Bodhi is gone. Chirrut. Baze. One by one. Instead he pushes on - for Jyn.

***

 

Jyn is standing before the man in white. Cassian’s dead. All she has to do is get to the terminal and pull the switch.

She will **_not_ ** die before she has completed this.

“Your shield is -”  
“I’ve lost nothing but time. You, on the other hand, will die with the Rebellion.”

She’ll die with the only real home she’s known. She’ll die amongst the people that she’s had the honor to serve with. She’ll die with the one family that chose her not out of obligation, but out of camaraderie and respect and love.

That’s a fine way to die.

Her body is in pain, but she prepares to lunge. She isn’t going to die without at least trying to move. She has her plan. She shifts, getting ready to lunge when she hears the electric shot. Her body tenses in anticipation.

And she feels nothing. The man in white is on the ground, a garish black hole marring his ivory cape. She looks up and sees a bloody, beaten Cassian Andor. She grins like a child as she runs forward. Not to him, but to the lever. She tugs it down, her eyes lighting up as she hears the automated voice.

“Transmitting.”

 

***

Cassian Andor has never seen anything as beautiful as the look on Jyn’s face when she hears that voice.  
  
*** 

( _Jyn Erso has brought out the the life in him_.)

***

 

Darth Mirtis had thought that he would live forever. Immortal and untouched.

Cassian Andor is going to die on a beach with Jyn Erso and he couldn’t have imagined a better way to go. He’d thought about sending her off to find a ship - but it was useless. She’d scowled at him and told him to shut his kriffing face.

Given time, Cassian Andor could have loved Jyn Erso.

He falls to his knees. It’s hard to walk on sand when his entire body is screaming in pain. Jyn is sitting beside him. Their fingers slot together. She looks at him, smiling, and the pain falls away. If he pretends hard enough, they could be on a beach somewhere relaxing. Or on the side of a lake on Naboo, watching the sunrise.

“You’re a good man, Cassian Andor.”

If the Death Star didn’t kill him, those words would. He feels his throat thicken. Tears are stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“Your father would be proud of you.”

Jyn’s grip tightens on his hand and he finds the strength within himself to move forward and holds her close. He’s not sure if he’s ever been this close to another being in his entire life. His clenches at her shirt, tears starting to fall freely now that she can’t see him.

At one time, he’d thought that death would be dark and cold.

And maybe it’s because Jyn is by his side, but the world is bright and white and warm. It’s purifying.

And for a moment, Cassian Andor is a good man.


End file.
